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ENGLISH^ 

AMERICAN 

LITERATURE 


41 


A CORRESPONDENCE 
COURSE IN LITERARY 
CRITICISM, INTER¬ 
PRETATION AND 
HISTORY 

'C 

By C. H. Sylvester 

Formerly Professor of Literature and 
Pedagogy in the State Normal 
School at Stevens 
Point, Wis. 

INCLUDING NUMEROUS 
MASTERPIECES 

IN EIGHTEEN PARTS 
PART ONE, FICTION 


CHICAGO 

INTERSTATE SCHOOL OF 
CORRESPONDENCE 

-4-- 

































THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two CuHtb Received 

NOV, 6 1901 

CorvtttOHT ENTBV 

Tv-'. 

CLASS (K XXc. No. 

^ 0 la- S T 

copy q 1.. 


Copyright, 1901 

By BELLOWS BROTHERS COMPANY 


All rights reserved 





preface 


This course of study grew out of class-room 
experience in which teacher and student were 
in daily conversation. To adapt it to the 
needs of those who study at home has been 
no light task. How well it has been per¬ 
formed the students will determine. The 
attention of the casual reader is directed to 
the fact that no one of the parts is complete 
in itself, that all must be considered as parts 
of a whole, and that correspondence lessons 
between teacher and pupil are integral and 
important factors of the course. 

To make manifest some of the beauties 
which the hasty reader passes without recog¬ 
nition, to assist in giving the power to inter¬ 
pret the great things which great men have 
written, to teach something of the causes and 
growth of the literary power as shown in its 
history, and to create a genuine and abiding 
interest in the various forms of good litera¬ 
ture, are the aims of the course. 

As a basis, many selections have been made 
from the writings of noted authors. In the 
choice and arrangement of these masterpieces 



preface 


it has been remembered that enjoyment is an 
essential part of profitable reading; that this 
is promoted if at first acquaintance the student 
confines his attention to salient points of inter¬ 
est and leaves the deeper significance and more 
delicate beauties for future studies. 

The course naturally divides itself into parts 
which are treated in the following order: fic¬ 
tion; essays; orations; lyric poetry including 
songs, odes, elegies, and sonnets; epic poetry; 
the drama; the literary powers manifested by 
great writers; and the history of English and 
American literature. The history has been 
deferred to the last, and then is presented in 
such a way as to involve a chronological 
review of the entire course. Each part con¬ 
tains notes on the authors quoted, and critical 
comments on their works. These are in¬ 
tended rather to create an interest in the 
authors, than to serve as biographical sketches. 

The selections from Holmes, Emerson, 
Longfellow, Lowell, and Whittier are used 
by arrangement with and permission of Hough¬ 
ton, Mifflin & Co., the authorized publishers 
of their works. C. H. S. 


Contents 


Page 

Preface ..3 

Directions to Student . . . .5 

Quotations. . . . . . . 13 

Outline for the Study of Fiction . . 17 

The Great Stone Face— Hawthorne . 27 

Note.25 

Study of the Story . . . 67 

Narrative Poetry.77 

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner — 
Coleridge . . . . . . 79 

Study of the Poem . . . .109 


Biographical Sketch Samuel Taylor Cole¬ 


ridge 


• IX 3 







II llust rations 


Page 

Nathaniel Hawthorne . . Frontispiece ^ 

Old Man of the Mountains, in the White 
Mountains, N. H. Supposed to be what 
Hawthorne had in mind when he wrote 
The Great Stone Face . . . 24 ^ 

A Great Stone Face in the Dells of the St. 

Croix River . . . . . .42 ^ 

Echo Lake and Eagle Cliff in the White 

Mountains near Franconia Notch . . 54 ^ 

Bridal Veil Fall, Franconia Notch, White 
Mountains. These illustrations from the 
White Mountains are all taken very near 
the scene of The Ambitious Guest , printed 
in Part Two . . . . .60 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge . . . 76 ^ 

Falcon Crag — Derwentwater. A scene in the 
English Lake Region near Southey’s home 112 









Co tbe Stubent 


You are expected to take up the study of 
the text as directed therein; to read, to con¬ 
sider, and to write as suggested in the discus¬ 
sion of the masterpieces. The papers which 
you write according to these directions are 
not to be sent in to the school, but are to be 
retained and occasionally reviewed by your¬ 
self. You will find many questions scattered 
through the volumes. These you are expected 
to answer to your own satisfaction, and it is 
not expected that the questions will prove 
very difficult. They are intended to turn 
your attention in the right direction, but are 
not intended to test your knowledge. The 
answers to these questions need not be written, 
and are not to be sent in to the school. If 
at any time the work is obscure, or you are in 
doubt as to what you should do, a letter to the 
school will receive a ready response. 

The text-books do not constitute the entire 
correspondence course. Besides the books, 
the student will be furnished from time to 
time with the following: 



Go tbe StuOent 


1. Test questions on each Part, the answers 
to which are to be sent to the school, where 
they are carefully read by trained instructors, 
and then returned to the students. 

2. Estimates on his work, together with 
helpful criticisms and personal suggestions for 
continued study. 

3. Correct printed answers to the test 
questions. 

4. Other criticisms and suggestions as 
needed by the individual student. 

5. When the course has been completed in 
a satisfactory manner, a diploma stating that 
fact is sent to the student. 

Interstate School of Correspondence. 


Ipart <S>ne 

jfictton 









































*4 
















■ 


























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.. . 












































. 


* 

■ 

























fiction 


Now I take up a book I have read before, 
I know what to expect; the satisfaction is not 
lessened by being anticipated. I shake hands 
with and look our old, tried, and valued friend 
in the face — compare notes and chat the hour 
away. — Hazlitt. 

The man who does not love a story must 
be devoid of normal human sympathy with 
his kind. — Bates. 

Novels are the journal or record of man¬ 
ners; and the new importance of these books 
derives from the fact that the novelist begins 
to penetrate the surface and treat this part of 
life more worthily. — Emerson. 

As for the great Masters of the Art — Field¬ 
ing, Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, Victor Hugo 
— I, for one, feel irritated when the critics 
begin to appraise, compare, and to estimate 
them; there is nothing, I think, that we can 
give them but admiration that is unspeakable 
and gratitude that is silent. This silence 
proves more eloquently than any words how 
great, how beautiful an Art is Fiction. 

— Walter Besant . 


13 



Outline for tbe Stub? of fiction 


©utline for tbe Stubs of jfiction 


1. The Persons. The center of interest for the 
reader is usually in one person or two about whom 
seem to cling most of the incidents in the story, 
and whose career the reader watches closely. 
Other persons appear from time to time and 
attract close attention, but eventually they drop 
into the background, and seem only to have con¬ 
tributed to the interest in the principal character. 
As one reads, these persons come before his eyes, 
and he makes their acquaintance. He notes their 
personal appearance, their carriage, their man¬ 
ners, and their traits of character. They are his 
friends or he knows them and scorns them as they 
deserve. 

2. Character and Its Development. One 
who reads a story should carefully consider the 
character and emotions of the persons who are 
introduced. The author may at once make the 
reader acquainted with them by describing in detail 
their traits of character or he may leave these to 
be inferred by the conversation of the individual. 
In the latter case, the reader is left to his own re¬ 
sources in interpretation, and he may mistake the 
purpose of the author and may fail to understand 
fully the course of the story because of his failure 

i7 


2 



Outline for tbe Stubs of jfictton 


to appreciate the characters of the persons. 
Again, the author allows his reader to infer by the 
action of his persons what their characters are. 
This leaves still more to be done by the reader. 
He must now not only critically weigh the action 
of the persons, but must inquire into their motives 
and judge the probable causes which lead them 
to act as they do. It is not usual that an author 
confines himself entirely to the one method of 
displaying character, but he uses the three as 
best suits his pleasure or as the plot compels. 

Frequently the story has as its distinctive pur¬ 
pose the development of character. The reader 
must then determine what was the original endow¬ 
ment of the person, what his traits and tendencies 
were. He must consider the various events of 
the story in their relation to this individual, must 
determine what effect each incident has had upon 
the person, and finally he must sum up in his own 
mind the various traits which go to make up the 
complete and final character as it appears at the 
close. 

3. Emotions Involved. In reading a work of 
fiction there are two groups of emotions involved. 
First, those of the persons who appear in the 
story, and second, those which arise in the mind 
of the reader. Sometimes these are similar, as 
when the sympathy of the reader is so fully 
aroused that he takes upon himself the hopes and 
aspirations, the fears and trials, of the character 


18 


Outline for tbc Stubs of fiction 


he studies about. Again, the emotions in the 
reader may be distinctly opposed to those of the 
persons in the story. Love or affection in the 
character in the book may arouse in the reader 
a feeling of dislike or even of fear and hatred. 
In studying any story it is desirable to distinguish 
between these two groups, as the power and skill 
of the author usually depend upon the success he 
has in arousing the feelings of the reader through 
the emotions of the persons in his story. 

4. The Plot. The author involves his character 
in a series of incidents more or less complicated, 
but all leading forward to a climax toward which 
the reader’s interest and sympathies point. The 
course of these incidents can not be fully fore¬ 
seen, and the author frequently exhibits much 
skill in concealing the final outcome, while he 
excites the curiosity of the reader. At the proper 
time, the intricate incidents simplify, and fre¬ 
quently in one startling event the whole plot 
stands revealed. This denouement is at or near 
the end of the story, and after it little remains to 
be done by the writer but to gather up the scat¬ 
tered threads of minor events. Sometimes a story 
is begun with a series of incidents not in the least 
related to one another, and the reader carries 
these separate in his mind until they finally blend 
together and he can look back and see the har¬ 
mony of the plan. Many times there are subor¬ 
dinate series of incidents which in their outcome 


Outline for tbe Stubs of jffctfon 


contribute to the general development of the 
major plot. The originality and skill of a writer 
can be determined most easily by studying his 
handling of the plot of his story. It is most 
interesting to analyze the different incidents, to 
place them in correct relation to one another, and 
to trace the main thread of incident which cul¬ 
minates in the climax. It is sometimes surprising 
to find that in what appears to be a very compli¬ 
cated story the plot itself is exceedingly simple. 
The writer has expanded it, added various chains 
of incidents, and skillfully withheld the climax so 
that the reader at no time realizes how little is 
involved in the plot. 

5. The Scene. In a general sense this means 
the place where the story is located, although it 
must be understood more particularly as applying 
to the location of each incident. Many times the 
story lies wholly in one locality, to which no par¬ 
ticular attention is given by the author, but at 
other times the scene changes and is described 
with great care and skill. In fact, the chief value 
of some stories lies in the happy bits of descrip¬ 
tion by means of which the author makes us see 
where and how his persons live. 

6. Local Coloring. The peculiar traits of the 
persons, their manners and customs, and their 
modes of speech all should be in harmony with 
the time and place where the story is located. 
Those little mannerisms or tricks of speech, the 


20 


©utUne foe tbe Stubs of jflctfon 


dialect, or the peculiarities of costume that char¬ 
acterize the person, all give local coloring to the 
story. The author frequently harmonizes his 
style with the epoch of which he writes, and so 
gives a more brilliant atmosphere of reality. 

7. The Purpose. In many instances the main 
purpose of the story seems to be that of enter¬ 
tainment, but often fiction is used to teach a 
lesson, and in its garb are presented some of the 
great problems of life upon which the author 
passes his judgment. Often the story is meant to 
be a picture of a certain epoch or period in his¬ 
tory, and is a serious study of the manner of liv¬ 
ing and of the habits of the people at that time, 
and then the story becomes a most vivid histor¬ 
ical picture. The reader should always consider 
whether the story is one of serious import or 
whether its chief function is that of entertain¬ 
ment, for the manner of his reading will be gov¬ 
erned largely by the decision he makes. 

8. The Lesson. It is not always that the 
author succeeds in accomplishing the purpose 
with which he sets out, and the lesson which 
the story really teaches may be quite different 
from that which it is the evident intent of the 
author to present. But often the highest inspira¬ 
tion is given and the most effective lessons are 
taught by the masterful pen of the story teller. 


21 


tlbc Great Stone face 


NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 































Ubc ©reat Stone JFace 


The preceding outline indicates a general 
course of study for any work of fiction, be it a 
short story or one of the most elaborate novels. 
By its aid we will discuss The Great Stone Face . 

Read the story carefully from beginning to 
end, without any thought of the outline of study. 
Throw yourself into the spirit of the piece as 
much as you are able to do, remembering care¬ 
fully the people and the incidents as they come 
before you. Get a general impression of the 
selection, a comprehensive idea of it in its 
entirety. 




Ube Great Stone face 


One afternoon, when the sun was going 
down, a mother and her little boy sat at the 
door of their cottage, talking about the Great 
Stone Face. They had but to lift their eyes, 
and there it was plainly to be seen, though 
miles away, with the sunshine brightening all 
its features. 

And what was the Great Stone Face ? 

Embosomed amongst a family of lofty 
mountains, there was a valley so spacious 
that it contained many thousand inhabitants. 
Some of these good people dwelt in log-huts, 
with the black forest all around them, on the 
steep and difficult hill-sides. Others had their 
homes in comfortable farm-houses, and culti¬ 
vated the rich soil on the gentle slopes or level 
surfaces of the valley. Others, again, were 
congregated into populous villages, where 
some wild, highland rivulet, tumbling down 
from its birthplace in the upper mountain 
region, had been caught and tamed by human 
cunning, and compelled to turn the machinery 
of cotton-factories. The inhabitants of this 


27 



Gbe <5reat Stone 3face 


valley, in short, were numerous, and of many 
modes of life. But all of them, grown people 
and children, had a kind of familiarity with the 
Great Stone Face, although some possessed 
the gift of distinguishing this grand natural 
phenomenon more perfectly than many of 
their neighbors. 

The Great Stone Face, then, was a work of 
Nature in her mood of majestic playfulness, 
formed on the perpendicular side of a mountain 
by some immense rocks, which had been thrown 
together in such a position as, when viewed 
at a proper distance, precisely to resemble the 
features of a human countenance. It seemed 
as if an enormous giant, or a Titan, 1 had sculp¬ 
tured his own likeness on the precipice. There 
was the broad arch of the forehead, a hundred 
feet in height; the nose, with its long bridge; 
and the vast lips, which, if they could have 
spoken, would have rolled their thunder ac¬ 
cents from one end of the valley to the other. 
True it is, that if the spectator approached too 
near, he lost the outline of the gigantic visage, 
and could discern only a heap of ponderous 
and gigantic rocks, piled in chaotic ruin one 
upon another. Retracing his steps, however, 

i. In Greek mythology, one of the giant children of Uranus (Heaven) 
and Gaea (Earth). 


28 



£be Great Stone fface 

the wondrous features would again be seen; 
and the farther he withdrew from them, the 
more like a human face, with all its original 
divinity intact, did they appear; until, as it 
grew dim in the distance, with the clouds and 
glorified vapor of the mountains clustering 
about it, the Great Stone Face seemed posi¬ 
tively to be alive. 

It was a happy lot for children to grow 
up to manhood or womanhood with the Great 
Stone Face before their eyes, for all the 
features were noble, and the expression was 
at once grand and sweet, as if it were the glow 
of a vast, warm heart, that embraced all man¬ 
kind in its affections, and had room for more. 
It was an education only to look at it. Ac¬ 
cording to the belief of many people, the 
valley owed much of its fertility to this benign 
aspect that was continually beaming over it, 
illuminating the clouds, and infusing its ten¬ 
derness into the sunshine. 

As we began with saying, a mother and her 
little boy sat at their cottage-door, gazing at 
the Great Stone Face, and talking about it. 
The child’s name was Ernest. 

“Mother,” said he, while the Titanic vis¬ 
age smiled on him, “ I wish that it could 
speak, for it looks so very kindly that its 
29 


tTbe <3reat Stone jface 


voice must needs be pleasant. If I were to 
see a man with such a face, I should love him 
dearly. ” 

“If an old prophecy should come to pass,” 
answered his mother, “we may see a man, 
some time or other, with exactly such a face 
as that. ’ ’ 

* * What prophecy do you mean, dear 
mother?” eagerly inquired Ernest. “Pray 
tell me all about it! ” 

So his mother told him a story that her own 
mother had told to her, when she herself was 
younger than little Ernest; a story, not of 
things that were past, but of what was yet to 
come; a story, nevertheless, so very old, that 
even the Indians, who formerly inhabited this 
valley, had heard it from their forefathers, to 
whom, as they affirmed, it had been mur¬ 
mured by the mountain streams, and whis¬ 
pered by the wind among the tree-tops. The 
purport was, that, at some future day, a child 
should be born hereabouts, who was destined 
to become the greatest and noblest personage 
of his time, and whose countenance, in man¬ 
hood, should bear an exact resemblance to 
the Great Stone Face. Not a few old-fash¬ 
ioned people, and young ones likewise, in the 
ardor of their hopes, still cherished an endur- 
30 


Gbe Great Stone jface 


ing faith in this old prophecy. But others, 
who had seen more of the world, had watched 
and waited till they were weary, and had be¬ 
held no man with such a face, nor any man 
that proved to be much greater or nobler than 
his neighbors, concluded it to be nothing but 
an idle tale. At all events, the great man of 
the prophecy had not yet appeared. 

“O mother, dear mother ! ” cried Ernest, 
clapping his hands above his head, “ I do 
hope that I shall live to see him ! ’ ’ 

His mother was an affectionate and thought¬ 
ful woman, and felt that it was wisest not to 
discourage the generous hopes of her little 
boy. So she only said to him, “ perhaps you 
may.” 

And Ernest never forgot the story that his 
mother told him. It was always in his mind, 
whenever he looked upon the Great Stone 
Face. He spent his childhood in the log cot¬ 
tage where he was born, and was dutiful to 
his mother, and helpful to her in many things, 
assisting her much with his little hands, and 
more with his loving heart. In this manner, 
from a happy yet often pensive child, he grew 
up to be a mild, quiet, unobstrusive boy, and 
sun-browned with labor in the fields, but with 
more intelligence brightening his aspect than 
31 


XTbe Great Stone 3Face 


is seen in many lads who have been taught 
at famous schools. Yet Ernest had had no 
teacher, save only that the Great Stone Face 
became one to him. When the toil of the 
day was over, he would gaze at it for hours, 
until he began to imagine that those vast fea¬ 
tures recognized him, and gave him a smile 
of kindness and encouragement, responsive to 
his own look of veneration. We must not 
take upon us to affirm that this was a mistake, 
although the Face may have looked no more 
kindly at Ernest than at all the world besides. 
But the secret was that the boy’s tender and 
confiding simplicity discerned what other peo¬ 
ple could not see;, and thus the love, which 
was meant for all, became his peculiar portion. 

About this time there went a rumor through¬ 
out the valley, that the great man, foretold 
from ages long ago, who was to bear a resem¬ 
blance to the Great Stone Face, had appeared 
at last. It seems that, many years before, a 
young man had migrated from the valley and 
settled at a distant seaport, where, after get¬ 
ting together a little money, he had set up as 
a shopkeeper. His name — but I could never 
learn whether it was his real one, or a nick¬ 
name that had grown out of his habits and 
success in life — was Gathergold. Being 
32 


Zbe <3reat Stone jface 

shrewd and active, and endowed by Providence 
with that instructable faculty which develops 
itself in what the world calls luck, he became 
an exceedingly rich merchant, and owner of a 
whole fleet of bulky-bottomed ships. All the 
countries of the globe appeared to join hands 
for the mere purpose of adding heap after 
heap to the mountainous accumulation of this 
one man’s wealth. The cold regions of the 
north, almost within the gloom and shadow of 
the Arctic Circle, sent him their tribute in 
the shape of furs; hot Africa sifted for him the 
golden sands of her rivers, and gathered up 
the ivory tusks of her great elephants out of 
the forests; the East came bringing him the 
rich shawls, and spices, and teas, and the 
effulgence of diamonds, and the gleaming 
purity of large pearls. The ocean, not to be 
behindhand with the earth, yielded up her 
mighty whales, that Mr. Gathergold might sell 
their oil, and make a profit on it. Be the 
original commodity what it might, it was gold 
within his grasp. It might be said of him, 
as of Midas in the fable, that whatever he 
touched with his finger immediately glistened, 
and grew yellow, and was changed at once 
into sterling metal, or, which suited him still 
better, into piles of coin. And, when Mr. 
33 


3 


Gbe <3reat Stone aface 


Gathergold had become so very rich that it 
would have taken him a hundred years only to 
count his wealth, he bethought himself of his 
native valley, and resolved to go back thither, 
and end his days where he was born. With 
this purpose in view, he sent a skillful archi¬ 
tect to build him such a palace as should be 
fit for a man of his vast wealth to live in. 

As I have said above, it had already been 
rumored in the valley that Mr. Gathergold 
had turned out to be the prophetic personage 
so long and vainly looked for, and that his 
visage was the perfect and undeniable simili¬ 
tude of the Great Stone Face. People were 
the more ready to believe that this must needs 
be the fact, when they beheld the splendid 
edifice that rose, as if by enchantment, on the 
site of his father’s old weather-beaten farm¬ 
house. The exterior was of marble, so daz- 
zlingly white that it seemed as though the whole 
structure might melt away in the sunshine, 
like those humbler ones which Mr. Gather¬ 
gold, in his young play-days, before his fingers 
were gifted with the touch of transmutation, 
had been accustomed to build of snow. It 
had a richly ornamented portico, supported 
by tall pillars, beneath which was a lofty door, 
studded with silver knobs, and made of a kind 


34 


tTbe (Breat Stone 3fa ce 


of variegated wood that had been brought from 
beyond the sea. The windows, from the 
floor to the ceiling of each stately apartment, 
were composed, respectively, of but one enor¬ 
mous pane of glass, so transparently pure that 
it was said to be a finer medium than even the 
vacant atmosphere. Hardly anybody had 
been permitted to see the interior of this 
palace; but it was reported, and with good 
semblance of truth, to be far more gorgeous 
than the outside, insomuch that whatever was 
iron or brass in other houses was silver or gold 
in this; and Mr. Gathergold’s bedchamber, 
especially, made such a glittering appearance 
that no ordinary man would have been able to 
close his eyes there. But, on the other hand, 
Mr. Gathergold was now so inured to wealth, 
that perhaps he could not have closed his eyes 
unless where the gleam of it was certain to 
find its way beneath his eyelids. 

In due time, the mansion was finished; next 
came the upholsterers, with magnificent furni¬ 
ture; then, a whole troop of black and white 
servants, the harbingers of Mr. Gathergold, 
who, in his own majestic person, was ex¬ 
pected to arrive at sunset. Our friend Ernest, 
meanwhile, had been deeply stirred by the 
idea that the great man, the noble man, the 
35 


Zhe <3reat Stone fface 


man of prophecy, after so many ages of delay, 
was at length to be made manifest to his 
native valley. He knew, boy as he was, that 
there were a thousand ways in which Mr. 
Gathergold, with his vast wealth, might trans¬ 
form himself into an angel of beneficence, and 
assume a control over human affairs as wide 
and benignant as the smile of the Great Stone 
Face. Full of faith and hope, Ernest doubted 
not that what the people said was true, and 
that now he was to behold the living likeness 
of those wondrous features on the mountain¬ 
side. While the boy was still gazing up the 
valley, and fancying, as he always did, that 
the Great Stone Face returned his gaze and 
looked kindly at him, the rumbling of wheels 
was heard, approaching swiftly along the 
winding road. 

“ Here he comes ! ” cried a group of people 
who were assembled to witness the arrival. 
“ Here comes the great Mr. Gathergold ! ” 

A carriage, drawn by four horses, dashed 
round the turn of the road. Within it, thrust 
partly out of the window, appeared the physi¬ 
ognomy of the old man, with a skin as yellow 
as if his own Midas-hand had transmuted it. 
He had a low forehead, small, sharp eyes, 
puckered about with innumerable wrinkles, 
36 


Gbe <3reat Stone 3face 


and very thin lips, which he made still thinner 
by pressing them forcibly together. 

“The very image of the Great Stone Face!” 
shouted the people. “ Sure enough, the old 
prophecy is true; and here we have the great 
man come, at last! ” 

And, what greatly perplexed Ernest, they 
seemed actually to believe that here was the 
likeness which they spoke of. By the road¬ 
side there chanced to be an old beggar-woman 
and two little beggar-children, stragglers from 
some far-off region, who, as the carriage rolled 
onward, held out their hands and lifted up 
their doleful voices, most piteously beseeching 
charity. A yellow claw—the very same that 
had clawed together so much wealth — poked 
itself out of the coach window, and dropt 
some copper coins upon the ground; so that, 
though the great man’s name seems to have 
beenGathergold, he might just as suitably have 
been nicknamed Scattercopper. Still, never¬ 
theless, with an earnest shout, and evidently 
with as much good faith as ever, the people 
bellowed,— 

‘ ‘ He is the very image of the Great Stone 
Face! ” 

But Ernest turned sadly from the wrinkled 
shrewdness of that sordid visage, and gazed 


37 


Gbe Great stone fface 


up the valley, where, amid a gathering mist, 
gilded by the last sunbeams, he could still dis¬ 
tinguish those glorious features which had 
impressed themselves into his soul. Their 
aspect cheered him. What did the benign 
lips seem to say ? 

“He will come! Fear not, Ernest; the 
man will come ! * ’ 

The years went on, and Ernest ceased to be 
a boy. He had grown to be a young man 
now. He attracted little notice from the other 
inhabitants of the valley; for they saw nothing 
remarkable in his way of life, save that, when 
the labor of the day was over, he still loved 
to go apart and gaze and meditate upon the 
Great Stone Face. According to their idea 
of the matter, it was a folly, indeed, but par¬ 
donable, inasmuch as Ernest was industrious, 
kind, and neighborly, and neglected no duty 
for the sake of indulging this idle habit. They 
knew not that the Great Stone Face had be¬ 
come a teacher to him, and that the sentiment 
which was expressed in it would enlarge the 
young man s heart, and fill it with wider and 
deeper sympathies than other hearts. They 
knew not that thence would come a better 
wisdom than could be learned from books, 
and a better life than could be moulded on the 
38 


Gbe <5reat Stone Jface 


defaced example of other human lives. Neither 
did Ernest know that the thoughts and affec¬ 
tions which came to him so naturally, in the 
fields and at the fireside, and wherever he 
communed with himself * were of a higher tone 
than those which all men shared with him. 
A simple soul,— simple as when his mother 
first taught him the old prophecy,— he beheld 
the marvelous features beaming adown the 
valley, and still wondered that their human 
counterpart was so long in making his appear¬ 
ance. 

By this time poor Mr. Gathergold was dead 
and buried; and the oddest part of the matter 
was, that his wealth, which was the body and 
spirit of his existence, had disappeared before 
his death, leaving nothing of him but a living 
skeleton, covered over with a wrinkled, yel¬ 
low skin. Since the melting away of his gold, 
it had been very generally conceded that there 
was no such striking resemblance, after all, 
betwixt the ignoble features of the ruined 
merchant and that majestic face upon the 
mountain-side. So the people ceased to honor 
him during his lifetime, and quietly consigned 
him to forgetfulness after his decease. Once 
in a while, it is true, his memory was brought 
up in connection with the magnificent palace 
39 


Z be Great Stone Iface 


which he had built, and which had long ago 
been turned into a hotel for the accommo¬ 
dation of strangers, multitudes of whom came, 
every summer, to visit that famous natural 
curiosity, the Great Stone Face. Thus, Mr. 
Gathergold being discredited and thrown into 
the shade, the man of prophecy was yet to 
come. 

It so happened that a native-born son of the 
valley, many years before, had enlisted as a 
soldier, and, after a great deal of hard fight¬ 
ing, had now become an illustrious com¬ 
mander. Whatever he may be called in his¬ 
tory, he was known in camps and on the 
battle-field under the nickname of old Blood- 
and-Thunder. This war-worn veteran, being 
now infirm with age and wounds, and weary 
of the turmoil of a military life, and of the roll 
of the drum and the clangor of the trumpet, 
that had so long been ringing in his ears, had 
lately signified a purpose of returning to his 
native valley, hoping to find repose where he 
remembered to have left it. The inhabitants, 
his old neighbors and their grown-up children, 
were resolved to welcome the renowned war¬ 
rior with a salute of cannon and public din¬ 
ner; and all the more enthusiastically, it being 
affirmed that now, at last, the likeness of the 


40 


Ube Great Stone fface 


Great Stone Face had actually appeared. An 
aid-de-camp of Old Blood-and-Thunder, trav¬ 
eling through the valley, was said to have 
been struck with the resemblance. Moreover 
the schoolmates and early acquaintances of 
the general were ready to testify, on oath, that, 
to the best of their recollection, the aforesaid 
general had been exceedingly like the majestic 
image, even when a boy, only that the idea 
had never occurred to them at that period. 
Great, therefore, was the excitement through¬ 
out the valley; and many people, who had 
never once thought of glancing at the Great 
Stone Face for years before, now spent their 
time in gazing at it, for the sake of knowing 
exactly how General Blood-and-Thunder 
looked. 

On the day of the great festival, Ernest, 
with all the other people of the valley, left 
his work, and proceeded to the spot where 
the sylvan banquet was prepared. As he 
approached, the loud voice of the Rev. Dr. 
Battleblast was heard, beseeching a blessing 
on the good things set before them, and on 
the distinguished friend of peace in whose 
honor they were assembled. The tables were 
arranged in a cleared space of the woods, shut 
in by the surrounding trees, except where a 
41 


£be <3teat Stone jface 


vista opened eastward, and afforded a distant 
view of the Great Stone Face. Over the gen¬ 
eral’s chair, which was a relic from the home 
of Washington, there was an arch of verdant 
boughs, with the laurel profusely intermixed, 
and surmounted by his country’s banner, be¬ 
neath which he had won his victories. Our 
friend Ernest raised himself on his tiptoes, in 
hopes to get a glimpse of the celebrated guest; 
but there was a mighty crowd about the tables 
anxious to hear the toasts and speeches, and 
to catch any word that might fall from the 
general in reply; and a volunteer company, 
doing duty as a guard, pricked ruthlessly with 
their bayonets at any particularly quiet person 
among the throng. So Ernest, being of an 
unobtrusive character, was thrust quite into 
the background, where he could see no more 
of Old Blood-and-Thunder’s physiognomy 
than if it had been still blazing on the battle¬ 
field. To console himself, he turned toward 
the Great Stone Face, which, like a faithful 
and long-remembered friend, looked back and 
smiled upon him through the vista of the for¬ 
est. Meantime, however, he could overhear 
the remarks of various individuals, who were 
comparing the features of the hero with the 
face on the distant mountain-side. 


42 



•3y»s4s»V'-S!*SSe2?'5€if': ->*#■■ 

:r - 'a ■■ \ •- • .' 


i»V-}Vv 






r'- .» 











Gbe Great Stone fface 


“ ’Tis the same face, to a hair! ” cried one 
man, cutting a caper for joy. 

“Wonderfully like, that’s a fact!” re¬ 
sponded another. 

‘ ‘ Like ! why, I call it Old Blood-and-Thun- 
der himself, in a monstrous looking-glass ! ” 
cried a third. “And why not? He’s the 
greatest man of this or any other age, beyond 
a doubt. ” 

And then all three of the speakers gave a 
great shout, which communicated electricity 
to the crowd, and called forth a roar from a 
thousand voices, that went reverberating for 
miles among the mountains, until you might 
have supposed that the Great Stone Face had 
poured its thunder-breath into the cry. All 
these comments, and this vast enthusiasm, 
served the more to interest our friend; nor 
did he think of questioning that now, at 
length, the mountain-visage had found its 
human counterpart. It is true, Ernest had 
imagined that this long-looked-for personage 
would appear in the character of a man of 
peace, uttering wisdom, and doing good, and 
making people happy. But, taking an habit¬ 
ual breadth of view, with all his simplicity, he 
contended that Providence should choose its 
own method of blessing mankind, and could 


43 


Cbe <3reat Stone fface 


conceive that this great end might be effected 
even by a warrior and a bloody sword, should 
inscrutable wisdom see fit to order matters so. 

“The general! the general!” was now the 
cry. ‘ ‘ Hush ! silence ! Old Blood-and-Thun- 
der’s going to make a speech.” 

Even so; for the cloth being removed, the 
general’s health had been drunk, amid shouts 
of applause, and he now stood upon his feet 
to thank the company. Ernest saw him. 
There he was, over the shoulders of the 
crowd, from the two glittering epaulets and 
embroidered collar upward, beneath the arch 
of green boughs with intertwined laurel, and 
the banner drooping as if to shade his brow ! 
And there, too, visible in the same glance, 
through the vista of the forest, appeared the 
Great Stone Face ! And was there, indeed, 
such a resemblance as the crowd had testified ? 
Alas, Ernest could not recognize it! He be¬ 
held a war-worn and weather-beaten counte¬ 
nance, full of energy, and expressive of an 
iron will; but the gentle wisdom, the deep, 
broad, tender sympathies, were altogether 
wanting in Old Blood-and-Thunder’s visage; 
and even if the Great Stone Face had assumed 
his look of stern command, the milder traits 
would still have tempered it. 


44 


tTbe <3reat Stone jface 


“ This is not the man of prophecy,” sighed 
Ernest to himself, as he made his way out of 
the throng. ‘ ‘ And must the world wait 
longer yet ? ” 

The mists had congregated about the dis¬ 
tant mountain-side, and there were seen the 
grand and awful features of the Great Stone 
Face, awful but benignant, as if a mighty 
angel were sitting among the hills, and enrob¬ 
ing himself in a cloud-vesture of gold and pur¬ 
ple. As he looked, Ernest could hardly believe 
but that a smile beamed over the whole vis¬ 
age, with a radiance still brightening, although 
without motion of the lips. It was probably 
the effect of the western sunshine, melting 
through the thinly diffused vapors that had 
swept between him and the object that he 
gazed at. But — as it always did—the 
aspect of his marvelous friend made Ernest 
as hopeful as if he had never hoped in vain. 

“ Fear not, Ernest,” said his heart, even as 
if the Great Face were whispering him,— 
‘‘fear not, Ernest; he will come.” 

More years sped swiftly and tranquilly 
away. Ernest still dwelt in his native val¬ 
ley, and was now a man of middle age. By 
imperceptible degrees, he had become known 
among the people. Now, as heretofore, he 
45 


£be Great Stone tface 

labored for his bread, and was the same sim¬ 
ple-hearted man that he had always been. 
But he had thought and felt so much, he had 
given so many of the best hours of his life to 
unworldly hopes for some great good to man¬ 
kind, that it seemed as though he had been 
talking with the angels, and had imbibed a 
portion of their wisdom unawares. It was 
visible in the calm and well-considered benefi¬ 
cence of his daily life, the quiet stream of 
which had made a wide, green margin all 
along its course. Not a day passed by, that 
the world was not the better because this man, 
humble as he was, had lived. He never 
stepped aside from his own path, yet would 
always reach a blessing to his neighbor. Al¬ 
most involuntarily, too, he had become a 
preacher. The pure and high simplicity of his 
thought, which, as one of its manifestations, 
took shape in the good deeds that dropped 
silently from his hand, flowed also forth in 
speech. He uttered truths that wrought upon 
and moulded the lives of those who heard him. 
His auditors, it may be, never suspected that 
Ernest, their own neighbor and familiar friend, 
was more than an ordinary man; least of all 
did Ernest himself suspect it; but, inevitably 
as the murmur of a rivulet, came thoughts out 
46 


Gbe Great Stone aface 

of his mouth that no other human lips had 
spoken. 

When the people’s minds had had a little 
time to cool, they were ready enough to ac¬ 
knowledge their mistake in imagining a simi¬ 
larity between General Blood-and-Thunder’s 
truculent physiognomy and the benign visage 
on the mountain-side. But now, again, there 
were reports and many paragraphs in the news¬ 
papers, affirming that the likeness of the Great 
Stone Face had appeared upon the broad 
shoulders of a certain eminent statesman. 
He, like Mr. Gathergold and Old Blood-and- 
Thunder, was a native of the valley, but had 
left it in his early days, and taken up the 
trades of law and politics. Instead of the 
rich man’s wealth and the warrior’s sword, 
he had but a tongue, and it was mightier than 
both together. So wonderfully eloquent was 
he, that whatever he might choose to say, his 
auditors had no choice but to believe him; 
wrong looked like right, and right like wrong; 
for when it pleased him, he could make a 
kind of illuminated fog with his mere breath, 
and obscure the natural daylight with it. His 
tongue, indeed, was a magic instrument; some¬ 
times it rumbled like the thunder; sometimes 
it warbled like the sweetest music. It was 


47 


Gbe Great Stone Jface 


the blast of war, — the song of peace; and it 
seemed to have a heart in it, when there was 
no such matter. In good truth, he was a won¬ 
drous man; and when his tongue had acquired 
him all other imaginable success,—when it 
had been heard in halls of state, and in the 
courts of princes and potentates,—after it had 
made him known all over the world, even as 
a voice crying from shore to shore, — it finally 
persuaded his countrymen to select him for 
the Presidency. Before this time, — indeed, 
as soon as he began to grow celebrated, —his 
admirers had found out the resemblance be¬ 
tween him and the Great Stone Face; and so 
much were they struck by it, that throughout 
the country this distinguished gentleman was 
known by the name of Old Stony Phiz. The 
phrase was considered as giving a highly favor¬ 
able aspect to his political prospects; for, as is 
likewise the case with the Popedom, nobody 
ever becomes President without taking a name 
other than his own. 

While his friends were doing their best to 
make him President, Old Stony Phiz, as he 
was called, set out on a visit to the valley 
where he was born. Of course, he had no 
other object than to shake hands with his fel¬ 
low-citizens, and neither thought nor cared 
48 


Cbe Great Stone jface 


about any effect which his progress through 
the country might have upon the election. 
Magnificent preparations were made to receive 
the illustrious statesman; a cavalcade of horse¬ 
men set forth to meet him at the boundary 
line of the State, and all the people left their 
business and gathered along the wayside to see 
him pass. Among these was Ernest. Though 
more than once disappointed, as we have seen, 
he had such a hopeful and confiding nature, 
that he was always ready to believe in what¬ 
ever seemed beautiful and good. He kept 
his heart continually open, and thus was sure 
to catch the blessing from on high when it 
should come. So now again, as buoyantly as 
ever, he went forth to behold the likeness of 
the Great Stone Face. 

The cavalcade came prancing along the 
road, with a great clattering of hoofs and a 
mighty cloud of dust, which rose up so dense 
and high that the visage of the mountain-side 
was completely hidden from Ernest’s eyes. 
All the great men of the neighborhood were 
there on horseback; militia officers, in uniform; 
the member of Congress; the sheriff of the 
county; the editors of newspapers; and many 
a farmer, too, had mounted his patient steed, 
with his Sunday coat upon his back. It really 


4 


49 


Gbe Great Stone Jface 


was a very brilliant spectacle, especially as 
there were numerous banners flaunting over 
the cavalcade, on some of which were gor¬ 
geous portraits of the illustrious statesman and 
the Great Stone Face, smiling familiarly at one 
another, like two brothers. If the pictures 
were to be trusted, the mutual resemblance, 
it must be confessed, was marvelous. We 
must not forget to mention that there was a 
band of music, which made the echoes of the 
mountains ring and reverberate with the loud 
triumph of its strains; so that airy and soul- 
thrilling melodies broke out among all the 
heights and hollows, as if every nook of his 
native valley had found a voice, to welcome 
the distinguished guest. But the grandest 
effect was when the far-off mountain precipice 
flung back the music; for then the Great Stone 
Face itself seemed to be swelling the trium¬ 
phant chorus, in acknowledgment that, at 
length, the man of prophecy was come. 

All this while the people were throwing up 
their hats and shouting, with enthusiasm so 
contagious that the heart of Ernest kindled 
up, and he likewise threw up his hat, and 
shouted, as loudly as the loudest, “Huzza for 
the great man ! Huzza for Old Stony Phiz ! ” 
But as yet he had not seen him. 

5° 


Gbe Great Stone tface 


“ Here he is, now ! ” cried those who stood 
near Ernest. “There! There ! Look at 
Old Stony Phiz and then at the Old Man of 
the Mountain, and see if they are not as like 
as two twin brothers ! ” 

In the midst of all this gallant array canie 
an open barouche, drawn by four white horses; 
and in the barouche, with his massive head 
uncovered, sat the illustrious statesman, Old 
Stony Phiz himself. 

“Confess it,” said one of Ernest’s neigh¬ 
bors to him, “the Great Stone Face has met 
its match at last! ” 

Now, it must be owned that, at his first 
glimpse of the countenance which was bowing 
and smiling from the barouche, Ernest did 
fancy that there was a resemblance between 
it and the old familiar face upon the mountain¬ 
side. The brow, with its massive depth and 
loftiness, and all the other features, indeed, 
were boldly and strongly hewn, as if in emu¬ 
lation of a more than heroic, of a Titanic, 
model. But the sublimity and stateliness, 
the grand expression of a divine sympathy, that 
illuminated the mountain visage and ethereal- 
ized its ponderous granite substance into spirit, 
might here be sought in vain. Something had 
been originally left out, or had departed. And 


Gbe Great Stone face 


therefore the marvelously gifted statesman 
had always a weary gloom in the deep cav¬ 
erns of his eyes, as of a child that has out¬ 
grown its playthings, or a man of mighty fac¬ 
ulties and little aims, whose life, with all its 
high performances, was vague and empty, 
because no high purpose had endowed it with 
reality. 

Still, Ernest’s neighbor was thrusting his 
elbow into his side, and pressing him for 
an answer. 

“Confess! confess! Is not he the very 
picture of your Old Man of the Mountain?’ 

“No!” said Ernest, bluntly, “I see little 
or no likeness. ” 

“Then so much the worse for the Great 
Stone Face!” answered his neighbor; and 
again he set up a shout for Old Stony 
Phiz. 

But Ernest turned away, melancholy, and 
almost despondent: for this was the saddest 
gf his disappointments, to behold a man who 
might have fulfilled the prophecy, and had not 
willed to do so. Meantime, the cavalcade, 
the banners, the music, and the barouches 
swept past him, with the vociferous crowd in 
the rear, leaving the dust to settle down, and 
the Great Stone Face to be revealed again, 


52 


Gbe Great Stone tface 

with the grandeur that it had worn for untold 
centuries. 

“ Lo, here I am, Ernest ! ” the benign lips 
seemed to say. “ I have waited longer than 
thou, and am not yet weary. Fear not; the 
man will come.” 

The years hurried onward, treading in their 
haste on one another’s heels. And now they 
began to bring white hairs, and scatter them 
over the head of Ernest; they made reverend 
wrinkles across his forehead, and furrows in 
his cheeks. He was an aged man. But not 
in vain had he grown old: more than the white 
hairs on his head were the sage thoughts in 
his mind; his wrinkles and furrows were in¬ 
scriptions that Time had graved, and in which 
he had written legends oi wisdom that had 
been tested by the tenor of a life. And 
Ernest had ceased to be obscure. Unsought 
for, undesired, had come the fame which so 
many seek, and made him known in the great 
world, beyond the limits of the valley in which 
he had dwelt so quietly. College professors, 
and even the active men of cities, came from 
far to see and converse with Ernest; for the 
report had gone abroad that this simple hus¬ 
bandman had ideas unlike those of other men, 
not gained from books, but of a higher tone,— 
53 


XLhc <3reat Stone face 


a tranquil and familiar majesty, as if he had 
been talking with the angels as his daily 
friends. Whether it were sage, statesman, or 
philanthropist, Ernest received these visitors 
with the gentle sincerity that had character¬ 
ized him from boyhood, and spoke freely with 
them of whatever came uppermost, or lay 
deepest in his heart or their own. While 
they talked together, his face would kindle, 
unawares, and shine upon them, as with a 
mild evening light. Pensive with the fullness 
of such discourse, his guests took leave and 
went their way; and passing up the valley, 
paused to look at the Great Stone Face, imag¬ 
ining that they had seen its likeness in a 
human countenance, but could not remember 
where. 

While Ernest had been growing up and 
growing old, a bountiful Providence had 
granted a new poet to this earth. He, like¬ 
wise, was a native of the valley, but had spent 
the greater part of his life at a distance from 
that romantic region, pouring out his sweet 
music amid the bustle and din of cities. 
Often, however, did the mountains which had 
been familiar to him in his childhood lift their 
snowy peaks into the clear atmosphere of his 
poetry. Neither was the Great Stone Face 
54 

















tlbe <3reat Stone tface 


forgotten, for the poet had celebrated it in an 
ode, which was grand enough to have been 
uttered by its own majestic lips. This man of 
genius, we may say, had come down from 
heaven with wonderful endowments. If he 
sang of a mountain, the eyes of all mankind 
beheld a mightier grandeur reposing on its 
breast, or soaring to its summit, than had be¬ 
fore been seen there. If his theme were a 
lovely lake, a celestial smile had now been 
thrown over it, to gleam forever on its surface. 
If it were the vast old sea, even the deep 
immensity of its dread bosom seemed to swell 
the higher, as if moved by the emotions of the 
song. Thus the world assumed another and 
a better aspect from the hour that the poet 
blessed it with his happy eyes. The Creator 
had bestowed him, as the last best touch to 
his own handiwork. Creation was not finished 
till the poet came to interpret, and so com¬ 
plete it. 

The effect was no less high and beautiful, 
when his human brethren were the subject of 
his verse. The man or woman, sordid with 
the common dust of life, who crossed his daily 
path, and the little child who played in it, 
were glorified if he beheld them in his mood 
of poetic faith. He showed the golden links 
55 


Zbc <3reat Stone 3Face 


of the great chain that intertwined them with 
an angelic kindred; he brought out the hidden 
traits of a celestial birth that made them wor¬ 
thy of such kin. Some, indeed, there were, 
who thought to show the soundness of their 
judgment by affirming that all the beauty and 
dignity of the natural world existed only in 
the poet’s fancy. Let such men speak for 
themselves, who undoubtedly appear to have 
been spawned forth by Nature with a con¬ 
temptuous bitterness; she having plastered 
them up out of her refuse stuff, after all the 
swine were made. As respects all things else, 
the poet’s ideal was the truest truth. 

The songs of this poet found their way to 
Ernest. He read them after his customary 
toil, seated on the bench before his cottage- 
door, where for such a length of time he had 
filled his repose with thought, by gazing at the 
Great Stone Face. And now as he read stan¬ 
zas that caused the soul to thrill within him, 
he lifted his eyes to the vast countenance 
beaming on him so benignantly. 

“ O majestic friend,” he murmured, address¬ 
ing the Great Stone Face, “ is not this man 
worthy to resemble thee ? ” 

The Face seemed to smile, but answered 
not a word. 


56 


£be Great Stone aface 


Now it happened that the poet, though he 
dwelt so far away, had not only heard of 
Ernest, but had meditated much upon his 
character, until he deemed nothing so desira¬ 
ble as to meet this man, whose untaught wis¬ 
dom walked hand in hand with the noble 
simplicity of his life. One summer morning, 
therefore, he took passage by the railroad, 
and, in the decline of the afternoon, alighted 
from the cars at no great distance from 
Ernest’s cottage. The great hotel, which had 
formerly been the palace of Mr. Gathergold, 
was close at hand, but the poet, with his car¬ 
pet bag on his arm, inquired at once where 
Ernest dwelt, and was resolved to be accepted 
as his guest. 

Approaching the door, he there found the 
good old man, holding a volume in his hand, 
which alternately he read, and then, with a 
finger between the leaves, looked lovingly at 
the Great Stone Face. 

“Good evening,” said the poet. “Can 
you give a traveler a night’s lodging? ” 

“Willingly,” answered Ernest; and then 
he added, smiling, “Methinks I never saw 
the Great Stone Face look so hospitably at a 
stranger.” 

The poet sat down on the bench beside 


57 


tXbe <3reat Stone 3face 


him, and he and Ernest talked together. 
Often had the poet held intercourse with the 
wittiest and the wisest, but never before with 
a man like Ernest, whose thoughts and feel¬ 
ings gushed up with such a natural freedom, 
and who made great truths so familiar by his 
simple utterance of them. Angels, as had 
been so often said, seemed to have wrought 
with him at his labor in the fields; angels 
seemed to have sat with him by the fireside; 
and, dwelling with angels as friend with 
friends, he had imbibed the sublimity of their 
ideas, and imbued it with the sweet and lowly 
charm of household words. So thought the 
poet. And Ernest, on the other hand, was 
moved and agitated by the living images 
which the poet flung out of his mind, and 
which peopled all the air about the cottage- 
door with shapes of beauty, both gay and pen¬ 
sive. The sympathies of these two men in¬ 
structed them with a profounder sense than 
either could have attained alone. Their minds 
accorded into one strain, and made delightful 
music which neither of them could have 
claimed as all his own, nor distinguished his 
own share from the other’s. They led one 
another, as it were, into a high pavilion of 
their thoughts, so remote, and hitherto so 
58 


$be (Sceat Stone aface 

dim, that they had never entered it before, 
and so beautiful that they desired to be there 
always. 

As Ernest listened to the poet, he imagined 
that the Great Stone Face was bending forward 
to listen, too. He gazed earnestly into the 
poet’s glowing eyes. 

“Who are you, my strangely gifted guest? ” 
he said. 

The poet laid his finger on the volume that 
Ernest had been reading. 

“You have read these poems,” said he. 
“You know me, then, —for I wrote them.” 

Again, and still more earnestly than before, 
Ernest examined the poet’s features; then 
turned towards the Great Stone Face; then 
back, with an uncertain aspect, to his guest. 
But his countenance fell; he shook his head, 
and sighed. 

“Wherefore are you sad?” inquired the 
poet. 

“Because,” replied Ernest, “all through 
life I have awaited the fulfillment of a proph¬ 
ecy; and, when I read these poems, I hoped 
that it might be fulfilled in you.” 

“You hoped,” answered the poet, faintly 
smiling, “to find in me the likeness of the 
Great Stone Face. And you are disappointed, 
59 


Zbc 0reat Stone jface 


as formerly with Mr. Gathergold, and Old 
Blood-and-Thunder, and Old Stony Phiz. 
Yes, Ernest, it is my doom. You must add 
my name to the illustrious three, and record 
another failure of your hopes. For—in 
shame and sadness do I speak it, Ernest — 
I am not worthy to be typified by yonder 
benign and majestic image.” 

“And why?” asked Ernest. He pointed 
to the volume. “Are not those thoughts 
divine ? ” 

“They have a strain of the Divinity,” 
replied the poet. “You can hear in them 
the far-off echo of a heavenly song. But my 
life, dear Ernest, has not corresponded with 
my thought. I have had grand dreams, but 
they have been only dreams, because I have 
lived — and that, too, by my own choice — 
among poor and mean realities. Sometimes 
even — shall I dare to say it ? — I lack faith 
in the grandeur, the beauty, and the goodness, 
which my own works are said to have made 
more evident in nature and in human life. 
Why, then, pure seeker of the good and true, 
shouldst thou hope to find me, in yonder 
image of the divine ? ” 

The poet spoke sadly, and his eyes were dim 
with tears. So, likewise, were those of Ernest. 

At the hour of sunset, as had long been his 
60 

















Z be Great Stone face 


frequent custom, Ernest was to discourse to 
an assemblage of the neighboring inhabitants 
in the open air. He and the poet, arm in 
arm, still talking together as they went along, 
proceeded to the spot. It was a small nook 
among the hills, with a gray precipice behind, 
the stern front of which was relieved by the 
pleasant foliage of many creeping plants that 
made a tapestry for the naked rock, by hang¬ 
ing their festoons from all its rugged angles. 
At a small elevation above the ground, set in 
a rich framework of verdure, there appeared 
a niche, spacious enough to admit a human 
figure, with freedom for such gestures as spon¬ 
taneously accompany earnest thought and 
genuine emotion. Into this natural pulpit 
Ernest ascended, and threw a look of familiar 
kindness around upon his audience. They 
stood, or sat, or reclined upon the grass, as 
seemed good to each, with the departing sun¬ 
shine falling obliquely over them, and ming¬ 
ling its subdued cheerfulness with the solem¬ 
nity of a grove of ancient trees, beneath and 
amid the boughs of which the golden rays 
were constrained to pass. In another direc¬ 
tion was seen the Great Stone Face, with the 
same cheer, combined with the same solem¬ 
nity, in its benignant aspect. 

Ernest began to speak, giving to the people 
61 


Gbe (Sreat Stone fface 


of what was in his heart and mind. His 
words had power, because they accorded with 
his thoughts; and his thoughts had reality and 
depth, because they harmonized with the life 
which he had always lived. It was not mere 
breath that this preacher uttered; they were 
the words of life, because a life of good deeds 
and holy love was melted into them. Pearls, 
pure and rich, had been dissolved into this 
precious draught. The poet, as he listened, 
felt that the being and character of Ernest 
were a nobler strain of poetry than he had 
ever written. His eyes glistening with tears, 
he gazed reverentially at the venerable man, 
and said within himself that never was there 
an aspect so worthy of a prophet and a sage 
as that mild, sweet, thoughtful countenance, 
with the glory of white hair diffused about it. 
At a distance, but distinctly to be seen, high 
up in the golden light of the setting sun, ap¬ 
peared the Great Stone Face, with hoary 
mists around it, like the white hairs around 
the brow of Ernest. Its look of grand benefi¬ 
cence seemed to embrace the world. 

At that moment, in sympathy with a thought 
which he was about to utter, the face of Ernest 
assumed a grandeur of expression, so imbued 
with benevolence, that the poet, by an irresist- 
6 ? 


Cbe 0reat Stone fface 

ible impulse, threw his arms aloft, and 
shouted,— 

“Behold! Behold! Ernest is himself the 
likeness of the Great Stone Face !” 

Then all the people looked, and saw that 
what the deep-sighted poet said was true. 
The prophecy was fulfilled. But Ernest, 
having finished what he had to say, took the 
poet’s arm, and walked slowly homeward, 
still hoping that some wiser and better man 
than himself would by and by appear, bearing 
a resemblance to the Great Stone Face. 


63 



Stut>\> of Gbe Great Stone face 











I 
































Stu&g of Zbc ©reat Stone jface 


Now read the story through again and again, 
each time with the idea of verifying or improving 
the statements in one or more of the topics in the 
following study. In these latter readings learn 
to skip quickly all those parts that do not refer to 
the point you have in mind. Train your eye to 
see at a glance what a paragraph relates to, whether 
it be to a person or to the development of the plot. 
The first time, you perused the story carefully 
word by word for a general impression — now you 
read to find what is said here and there on a par¬ 
ticular subject. The attitude of your mind has 
changed. At first it was merely receptive, now it 
inquires and weighs. 

i. The Persons. The chief person is Ernest 
himself. He appears in the story at first as a lit¬ 
tle boy sitting with his mother at the door of his 
cottage, and deeply interested in the Great Stone 
Face, which, though it remains immovable at the 
end of the valley, is in itself almost a living per¬ 
son. Ernest grows up under our eyes, changing 
from the pensive child to the quiet, unobtrusive 
boy, having no other teacher than the Great Stone 
Face. Later we see him as a young man, as a 
middle-aged man, and as an old man hopefully 
waiting, though often despondent in his anticipa- 
67 



Stubs of ZTbe Great Stone jface 


tion of the fulfillment of the prophecy. He is a 
middle-aged man when fame comes to him, and 
though he labors for his bread and remains the 
same simple-hearted man, yet to others it seems 
as though he has been talking with the angels and 
has imbibed a portion of their wisdom unawares. 
In the last scene of the story, he is a venerable 
man with a glory of white hair diffused about his 
sweet, thoughtful countenance, which bears an 
aspect worthy of a prophet and a sage. 

As secondary characters, we see introduced 
one after the other, Gathergold, Old Blood-and- 
Thunder, Old Stony Phiz, and The Poet. The 
first is a u shrewd and active man who was 
endowed by Providence with that inscrutable fac¬ 
ulty which develops itself in what the world calls 
luck.” The whole world has yielded him its trib¬ 
ute until it may be said of him, as of Midas in 
the fable, that whatever he touches with his finger 
immediately glistens and turns into piles of coin. 
Hawthorne pictures him “with a skin as yellow 
as if his own Midas hand had transmuted it. He 
had a low forehead, small, sharp eyes, puckered 
about with innumerable wrinkles, and very thin 
lips which he made still thinner by pressing them 
forcibly together.” His hand is like a yellow 
claw. 

Old Blood-and-Thunder is infirm with age and 
wounds, weary of the turmoil of military life. Still 
he is tall and stately, and when he stands up at the 
68 


Stubs of Gbe Great Stone tface 

banquet he is seen over the shoulders of the crowd, 
and his face assumes a look of strong command, 
not tempered by any milder traits. 

Old Stony Phiz is neither rich nor warlike, but 
he is an orator, mightier than the miser and the 
warrior. His tongue is like a magic instrument. 
Sometimes it rumbles like the thunder, and “ some¬ 
times it warbles like the sweetest music. ” In the 
barouche he sits with his head uncovered; “the 
brow with its massive depth and loftiness, and 
all the other features, indeed, were boldly and 
strongly hewn, as if in emulation of a more than 
heroic, of a Titanic, model. ” But something has 
been left out originally, or has departed so that 
there is a weary gloom in the deep caverns of his 
eyes as of a child that has outgrown its playthings. 

Of the Poet’s personal appearance Hawthorne 
says little, but he lauds his skill as a versifier so 
highly that we are inclined to believe the Poet a 
most attractive man. 

2. Character and its Development. This 
story is one that deals particularly with the devel¬ 
opment of a character. The boy, simple, gentle, 
and refined, was thrown under the influence of, 
and in almost daily contact with, one of the sub- 
limest phenomena in nature. By conversation 
with his mother he learned to love and be in sym¬ 
pathy with this almost human face, and his hopes 
and aspirations all centered in the realization of 
the prophecy. He met Gathergold, the personifi- 
69 


Stub*? of Sbe (Brest Stone jface 

cation of wealth, and at first was hopeful because 
of the possibilities that he thought lay before one 
who had such means. Ultimately he saw the hol¬ 
lowness of the miser’s pretensions, and grew the 
better for this acquaintance with the world. When 
Old Blood-and-Thunder came, Ernest hoped that 
in spite of the bloody career the man had had, 
there might be in him the power for good that so 
high an ideal must possess. But he was not car¬ 
ried away by the plaudits of the people; he clung 
more closely to his conception, and his character 
came from this test stronger even than before. 
Though there was much for him to admire in the 
character of Old Stony Phiz, yet the fame that 
came through his marvelous oratory was as noth¬ 
ing to Ernest when he found that heart-power, 
and love for mankind were lacking. By con¬ 
stantly cherishing his high ideal, and by the long 
periods of reflection in which he seemed to com¬ 
mune with the spirit of the Great Stone Face, his 
ideas, not gained from books, were raised to a 
higher tone and acquired a tranquil and familiar 
majesty as if he had made the angels his daily 
friends. It is in the Poet that Ernest found a man 
most nearly to his satisfaction. His sympathies 
were strongly enlisted, and had it not been for the 
confession of the Poet himself, Ernest might have 
hailed him as the realization of his prophecy, but 
when the Poet explained his own character, Ernest 
recognized the weakness, and gave up regretfully 
70 


Stubs ot Gbe <3reat Stone Jface 


the hope he had cherished. By these experiences 
Ernest himself grew steadily like the ideal he had 
so long held, and when at the last he stood in his 
rock-bound pulpit, the influences of nature had 
made him fully the personification of what was 
typified in the Great Stone Face. But his modesty 
prevented him from feeling this, and he remained 
simple, quiet, and kindly, hoping that some man 
wiser and better than himself would by and by 
appear. 

Hawthorne describes the character of each per¬ 
son he introduces, and leaves very little to be 
learned through their conversation and their acts. 
They conduct themselves in harmony with his 
descriptions, but they speak and act solely for the 
purpose of throwing light upon the character of 
Ernest. 

3. Emotions Involved. In Gathergold are 
avarice and thirst for wealth, Old Blood-and- 
Thunder is ambitious and hungry for power, Old 
Stony Phiz is selfish and disappointed, the Poet is 
a dreamer and false to his high ideals, yet these 
traits do not impress the reader except as they 
affect Ernest in his veneration for truth, and his 
love of mankind. When the reading is finished 
one finds himself convinced of the sincerity of 
Ernest, and mastered by admiration for the man 
who followed his ideals so closely, and realized 
them so completely. 

4. The Plot. Among Hawthorne’s notes is 

7i 


Stu&E of flbe <3ceat Stone aface 

the following paragraph, written long before the 
story was completed, which contains the plot in 
as simple a form as we can give it: — 

< t The semblance of a human face to be formed 
on the side of a mountain, or in the fracture of a 
small stone, by a lusus natures (freak of nature). 
The face is an object of curiosity for years or 
centuries, and by and by a boy is born whose 
features gradually assume the aspect of that por¬ 
trait. At some critical juncture the resemblance 
is found to be perfect. A prophecy may be con¬ 
nected.” 

Hawthorne carried out his plan almost to the 
letter, though he has made the face more than an 
object of curiosity, and has put into the plot the 
one thought that the boy's features gradually 
assumed the aspect of the face because of his love 
for nature and because he followed closely his 
high ideals. 

5. The Scene. The scene of this entire story 
is in a spacious valley surrounded by lofty moun¬ 
tains. Some of the people were poor and dwelt 
in log huts. Others had comfortable farm houses, 
and others again were gathered into populous vil¬ 
lages. At the head of this valley was the wonder¬ 
ful Great Stone Face, resembling the likeness of a 
Titan on the face of the precipice. When the 
spectator was near at hand he lost some of the 
outline of this gigantic visage, but further away it 
seemed altogether like a human face, and as it 
72 


Stubs of Zbc 0ccat Stone aface 

grew dim in the remote distance with the clouds 
and glorified vapor of the mountains clustering 
about it, it seemed actually alive. 

But each important event in the story has its 
own stage setting. Mr.Gathergold is introduced 
in his marvelous marble palace so dazzlingly white 
that it seemed as though the whole structure might 
melt away in sunshine. Hawthorne has described 
this in detail, and makes it all contribute to 
our appreciation of the fact that Gathergold’s 
whole soul was in his riches; he could not close 
his eyes except where the gleam of gold was cer¬ 
tain to find its way beneath his eyelids. It is at a 
banquet where the tables are arranged in a cleared 
space of the woods, shut in by surrounding 
trees with a vista opening eastward toward the 
Great Stone Face, that Blood-and-Thunder is 
introduced to Ernest. Old Stony Phiz comes to 
him in a great cavalcade prancing along the road 
with the noisy clattering of hoofs and a mighty 
cloud of dust. Hawthorne makes much of the 
brilliant spectacle and describes the people, the 
banners, the pictures, and the triumphant music 
that echoed in airy and soul-thrilling melodies 
from the heights and hollows of the mountains. 
But he is particular to tell us that the dust from 
this cavalcade hid completely from Ernest’s eyes 
the visage on the mountainside. 

To Ernest’s own humble home the Poet comes, 
and takes his place at the hearthstone. Haw- 


73 


£tu&£ of Zb c Great Stone aface 

thorne says little or nothing of the surroundings, 
and the attention of the reader is centered in the 
two men and their conversation. 

6. Local Coloring. There are no striking 
effects in this story. It is simple, commonplace, 
and might have been located with equal propriety 
in a valley in any of the Eastern States. There is 
nothing that fixes it definitely in any place, 
though people have thought that Hawthorne 
might have had in his mind the “Old Man of the 
Mountain ” or the profile in the Franconia Notch 
of the White Mountains, for we know that Haw¬ 
thorne had visited these mountains in his occa¬ 
sional rambles from home. There are passages 
tracing the character of Old Stony Phiz that make 
one think of Webster, and Emerson might almost 
have sat for the portrait of Ernest. But we have 
no right to assume that his characters were meant 
to typify any persons whom Hawthorne had 
known in actual life. 

7. Purpose and Lesson. Enough has been 
said to make very clear the purpose Hawthorne 
had in his mind when he wrote the story. It was 
apparent in his forecast of the plot, and the lesson 
for the reader will not be made more clear by 
comment or strengthened by explanation. 


74 
































Zbe IRime of tbe Hncient Mariner 


SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 












% 










A 





narrative poetry 


Any narrative poem is first of all a story, and 
before the reader can fully appreciate it in all its 
literary beauty, he must make himself acquainted 
with it in the same way that we have studied The 
Great Stone Face . 

The example we take for analysis is in most 
striking contrast to the story we have just dis¬ 
cussed, and it illustrates forcibly how heavy are 
the demands sometimes made upon a reader’s 
imagination. 

The Ancient Mariner may not be a perfect type 
of the narrative poem, but it has a distinct plot 
upon which hangs much of the weird interest 
the poem creates. We will read it this time 
for the story, omitting for the once any seri¬ 
ous consideration of its troubled philosophy and 
uncanny suggestion. Make preliminary prepara¬ 
tion for this as for The Great Stone Face by read¬ 
ing the poem from the beginning continuously 
to the end. In reading do not try to make any 
explanation of the supernatural events. Let your 
imagination run riot, and for the time believe in 
all the weird creations. Later, if you wish, you 
can attempt to harmonize it with real life and try 
to understand its import. 

77 




XTbe IRtme of tbe Hnctent flbariner 


PART I 

It is an ancient Mariner, 

And he stoppeth one of three. 

‘ ‘ By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, 
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me ? 

“The bridegroom’s doors are opened wide, 
And I am next of kin; 

The guests are met, the feast is set: 

May’st hear the merry din.” 

He holds him with a skinny hand, 

“There was a ship,” quoth he. 

“ Hold off ! unhand me, gray-beard loon ! ” 
Eftsoons 1 his hand dropt he. 

He holds him with his glittering eye — 

The Wedding-guest stood still, 

And listens like a three years’ child: 

The Mariner hath his will. 


i. Quickly. 

Note. Coleridge printed an explanatory prose narrative in quaint 
style and broken sentences, in the margin of the poem. It was omitted 
here because it interfered somewhat with the purpose for which we use 
the poem. 


79 



Gbe IRinte ot tbe Undent /ibatlner 

The Wedding-guest sat on a stone: 

He can not choose but hear; 

And thus spake on that ancient man, 

The bright-eyed Mariner :— 

The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, 

Merrily did we drop 

Below the kirk, below the hill, 

Below the lighthouse top, 

The sun came up upon the left, 

Out of the sea came he! 

And he shone bright, and on the right 
Went down into the sea. 

Higher and higher every day, 

Till over the mast at noon— 

The Wedding-guest here beat his breast, 
For he heard the loud bassoon. 

The bride hath paced into the hall, 

Red as a rose is she; 

Nodding their heads before her goes 
The merry minstrelsy. 

The Wedding-guest he beat his breast, 

Yet he can not choose but hear; 

And thus spake on that ancient man, 

The bright-eyed Mariner 
80 


Gbe IRfme of tbe Bncfent /ibarlner 


And now the storm-blast came, and he 
Was tyrannous and strong : 

He struck with his o’ertaking wings, 

And chased us south along. 

With sloping masts and dipping prow, 

As who 2 pursued with yell and blow 
Still treads the shadow of his foe, 

And forward bends his head, 

The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, 
And southward aye we fled. 

And now there came both mist and snow, 
And it grew wondrous cold : 

And ice, mast-high, came floating by, 

As green as emerald. 

And through the drifts, the snowy clifts 3 
Did send a dismal sheen : 

Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken— 

The ice was all between. 

The ice was here, the ice was there, 

The ice was all around : 

It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, 
Like noises in a swound! 4 

2. As [one] who is pursued. 

3. Cliffs—cliffs are cleft rocks. 

4. Like noises [one hears] in a swoon. 

8l 


/ 



Gbe TRfme of tbe ancient dbarfnet 

At length did cross an Albatross, 
Thorough 5 the fog it came; 

As if it had been a Christian soul, 

We hailed it in God’s name. 

It ate the food it ne’er had eat, 

And round and round it flew. 

The ice did split with a thunder-fit; 

The helmsman steered us through. 


And a good south wind sprung up behind; 

The Albatross did follow, 

And every day, for food or play, 

Came to the mariner’s hollo ! 

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 

It perched for vespers nine ; 

Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, 
Glimmered the white moonshine. 

“God save thee, ancient Mariner, 

From the fiends that plague thee thus! — 
Why look’st thou so?”—With my cross-bow 
I shot the Albatross . 6 


5. Through. Thorough to preserve the meter. 

6. A great sea-bird, the largest known. It sometimes follows a ship for 
days without resting. 

82 ' 



Cbe TRirne of tbe Bncient d&arfner 


PART II 

The sun now rose upon the right 
Out of the sea came he, 

Still hid in the mist, and on the left 
Went down into the sea. 

And the good south wind still blew behind, 
But no sweet bird did follow, 

Nor any day for food or play 
Came to the mariner’s hollo ! 

And I had done a hellish thing, 

And it would work ’em woe: 

For all averred I had killed the bird 
That made the breeze to blow,— 

Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, 
That made the breeze to blow. 

Nor dim, nor red, like God’s own head, 
The glorious sun uprist : 7 
Then all averred I had killed the bird 
That brought the fog and mist. 

’Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, 
That bring the fog and mist. 


6 


7. Uprose. 


83 



trbc Iftime of tbe Bncfent /Ifcarinet 


The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, 
The furrow followed free ; 

We were the first that ever burst 
Into that silent sea. 

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 
’Twas sad as sad could be ; 

And we did speak only to break 
The silence of the sea! 

All in a hot and copper sky, 

The bloody sun, at noon, 

Right up above the mast did stand , 8 
No bigger than the moon. 

Day after day, day after day, 

We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; 

As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 

Water, water, everywhere, 

And all the boards did shrink; 

Water, water, everywhere, 

Nor any drop to drink. 

The very deep did rot: O Christ! 

That ever this should be ! 

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 
Upon the slimy sea. 


8. Where is the ship now ? 


84 



ttbe TRime of tbe ancient dbadnet 

About, about, in reel and rout 9 
The death-fires danced at night; 

The water, like a witch’s oils, 

Burnt green, and blue, and white. 

And some in dreams assured were 
Of the spirit that plagued us so; 

Nine fathom deep he had followed us 
From the land of mist and snow. 

And every tongue, through utter drought, 
Was withered at the root; 

We could not speak, no more than if 
We had been choked with soot. 

Ah ! well a day ! what evil looks 
Had I from old and young ! 

Instead of the cross, the Albatross 
About my neck was hung. 


9. A confused and whirling dance. 


85 



Cbe TRimc of tbe Xincient /ibarfner 
PART III 

There passed a weary time. Each throat 
Was parched, and glazed each eye. 

A weary time ! a weary time ! 

How glazed each weary eye ! 

When looking westward, I beheld 
A something in the sky. 

At first it seemed a little speck, 

And then it seemed a mist: 

It moved and moved, and took at last 
A certain shape, I wist . 10 

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! 

And still it neared and neared: 

As if it dodged a water-sprite, 

It plunged, and tacked, and veered. 

With throats unslacked, with black lips baked, 
We could nor laugh nor wail; 

Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! 

I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, 

And cried, A sail ! a sail ! 

With throats unslacked, with black lips baked, 
Agape they heard me call : 

io. Knew. 

86 



ftbe IRime o i tbe Bncient banner 


Gramercy ! 11 they for joy did grin, 

And all at once their breath drew in, 

As they were drinking all. 

See ! see ! (I cried) she tacks no more ! 

Hither to work us weal ; 

Without a breeze, without a tide, 

She steadies with upright keel ! 

The western wave was all a-flame, 

The day was well-nigh done ! 

Almost upon the western wave 
Rested the broad, bright sun ; 

When that strange shape drove suddenly 
Betwixt us and the sun. 

And straight the sun was flecked with bars, 
(Heaven’s Mother send us grace !) 

As if through a dungeon grate he peered 
With broad and burning face. 

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) 
How fast she nears and nears ! 

Are those her sails that glance in the sun, 

Like restless gossameres ? 12 

Are those her ribs through which the sun 
Did peer, as through a grate ? 

11. An exclamation derived from the French grand merci, great thanks. 

12. Films like cobwebs, seen floating in the air in summer. 

87 



tbc IRlme of tbe indent rtftadnet? 

And is that Woman all her crew ? 

Is that a Death ? and are there two ? 

Is Death that woman’s mate ? 

Her lips were red, her looks were free, 

Her locks were yellow as gold: 

Her skin was as white as leprosy, 

The night-mare Life-in-Death was she, 

Who thicks man’s blood with cold. 

The naked hulk alongside came, 

And the twain were casting dice; 

“The game is done ! I’ve won, I’ve won !” 
Quoth she, and whistles thrice. 

The sun’s rim dips: the stars rush out: 

At one stride comes the dark ; 13 
With far-heard whisper, o’er the sea, 

Off shot the spectre-bark. 

We listened and looked sideways up ! 

Fear at my heart, as at a cup, 

My life-blood seemed to sip ! 

The stars were dim, and thick the night, 

The steersman’s face by his lamp gleamed 
white; 

From the sails the dew did drip — 

Till clomb 14 above the eastern bar 

13. In the tropics there is little or no twilight. 

14. Climbed. 


88 



Sbe IRime of tbe Bndent flbatinef 

The horned moon , 15 with one bright star 
Within the the nether tip. 

One by one, by the star-dogged moon, 
Too quick for groan or sigh, 

Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, 
And cursed me with his eye. 

Four times fifty living men, 

(And I heard nor sigh nor groan ) 

With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, 

They dropped down one by one. 

The souls did from their bodies fly,— 
They fled to bliss or woe ! 

And every soul, it passed me by, 

Like the whiz of my cross-bow ! 

15. The waning moon. 


89 



ftbe Iftime of tbe Bncient Mariner 

PART IV 

“I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! 

I fear thy skinny hand ! 

And thon art long, and lank and brown, 
As is the ribbed sea-sand. 

I fear thee and thy glittering eye, 

And thy skinny hand so brown. ” 

Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-guest 
This body dropt not down. 

Alone, alone, all, all alone, 

Alone on a wide, wide sea ! 

And never a saint took pity on 
My soul in agony. 

The many men, so beautiful! 

And they all dead did lie: 

And a thousand, thousand slimy things 
Lived on; and so did I. 

I looked upon the rotting sea, 

And drew my eyes away; 

I looked upon the rotting deck, 

And there the dead men lay. 

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray 
But or ever a prayer had gusht, 


90 


Gbe IRtme of tbe ancient banner 


A wicked whisper came, and made 
My heart as dry as dust. 

I closed my lids, and kept them close, 

And the balls like pulses beat; 

For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the 
sky, 

Lay like a load on my weary eye, 

And the dead were at my feet. 

The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 

Nor rot nor reek did they: 

The look with which they looked on me 
Had never passed away. 

An orphan’s curse would drag to hell 
A spirit from on high; 

But oh ! more horrible than that 
Is the curse in a dead man’s eye ! 

Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, 
And yet I could not die. 

The moving moon went up the sky, 

And nowhere did abide: 

Softly she was going up, 

And a star or two beside — 

Her beams bemock’d the sultry main, 

Like April hoar-frost spread; 

9 1 


Gbe IRfme of tbe Bndent ZlBarfner 

But where the ship’s huge shadow lay, 
The charmed water burnt alway 
A still and awful red. 

Beyond the shadow of the ship, 

I watched the water-snakes: 

They moved in tracks of shining white, 
And when they reared, the elfish light 
Fell off in hoary flakes. 

Within the shadow of the ship 
I watched their rich attire: 

Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, 
They coiled and swam; and every track 
Was a flash of golden fire. 

O happy, living things ! no tongue 
Their beauty might declare: 

A spring of love gushed from my heart, 
And I blessed them unaware: 

Sure my kind saint took pity on me, 

And I blessed them unaware. 


The selfsame moment I could pray; 
And from my neck so free 
The Albatross fell off, and sank 
Like lead into the sea. 


92 


Gbe IRfme of the Bncient Ladner 


PART V 

O sleep ! it is a gentle thing, 

Beloved from pole to pole ! 

To Mary Queen the praise be given ! 
She sent the gentle sleep from heaven, 
That slid into my soul. 

The silly buckets on the deck, 

That had so long remained, 

I dreamt that they were filled with dew; 
And when I awoke, it rained. 

My lips were wet, my throat was cold, 
My garments all were dank; 

Sure I had drunken in my dreams, 

And still my body drank. 

I moved, and could not feel my limbs: 

I was so light — almost 
I thought that I had died in sleep, 

And was a blessed ghost. 

And soon I heard a roaring wind: 

It did not come anear; 

But with its sound it shook the sails, 
That were so thin and sere. 


93 


£be IRfme of tbe Bndent dbarfner 

The upper air burst into life ! 

And a hundred fire-flags sheen, 

To and fro they were hurried about! 

And to and fro, and in and out, 

The wan stars danced between. 

And the coming wind did roar more loud, 

And the sails did sigh like sedge : 

And the rain poured down from one black 
cloud: 

The moon was at its edge. 

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still 
The moon was at its side : 

Like water shot from some high crag, 

The lightning fell with never a jag, 

A river steep and wide. 

The loud wind never reached the ship, 

Yet now the ship moved on ! 

Beneath the lightning and the moon 
The dead men gave a groan. 

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, 
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes ; 

It had been strange, even in a dream, 

To have seen those dead men rise. 


94 


£be IRlmc of tbe Hnctent /ibarfnet 

The helmsman steered; the ship moved on; 
Yet never a breeze up blew; 

The mariners all ’gan work the ropes, 

Where they were wont to do; 

They raised their limbs like lifeless tools — 
We were a ghastly crew. 

The body of my brother’s son 
Stood by me, knee to knee : 

The body and I pulled at one rope, 

But he said naught to me. 

“ I fear thee, ancient Mariner! ” 

Be calm, thou Wedding-guest ! 

’T was not those souls that fled in pain, 

Which to their corses came again, 

But a troop of spirits blest: 

For when it dawned — they dropped their 
arms, 

And clustered round the mast ; 

Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, 
And from their bodies passed. 

Around, around, flew each sweet sound, 

Then darted to the sun ; 

Slowly the sounds came back again, 

Now mixed, now one by one. 

95 


Gbe IRlme of tbe Bndent flbadner 

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 
I heard the sky-lark sing ; 

Sometimes all little birds that are, 

How they seemed to fill the sea and air 
With their sweet jargoning ! 

And now ’twas like all instruments, 

Now like a lonely flute ; 

And now it is an angel’s song, 

That makes the heavens be mute. 

It ceased ; yet still the sails made on 
A pleasant noise till noon, 

A noise like of a hidden brook 
In the leafy month of June, 

That to the sleeping woods all night 
Singeth a quiet tune. 

Till noon we quietly sailed on, 

Yet never a breeze did breathe : 

Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 
Moved onward from beneath. 

Under the keel nine fathom deep, 

From the land of mist and snow, 

The spirit slid: and it was he 
That made the ship to go. 

The sails at noon left off their tune, 
And the ship stood still also. 


Gbe TRlme of tbe ancient Mariner 

The sun, right up above the mast, 

Had fixed her to the ocean: 

But in a minute she ’gan stir, 

With a short, uneasy motion — 
Backwards and forwards half her length 
With a short, uneasy motion. 

Then like a pawing horse let go, 

She made a sudden bound: 

It flung the blood into my head, 

And I fell down in a swound. 


How long in that same fit I lay, 

I have not to declare; 

But ere my living life returned, 

I heard, and in my soul discerned, 

Two voices in the air. 

“Is it he ?” quoth one, “ Is this the man? 
By him who died on cross, 

With his cruel bow he laid full low 
The harmless Albatross. 

“The spirit who bideth by himself 
In the land of mist and snow, 

He loved the bird that loved the man 
Who shot him with his bow. ” 


97 


Gbe IRlmc of tbe Hncfent rtlbarfnet 

The other was a softer voice, 

As soft as honey-dew: 

Quoth he, “The man hath penance done, 
And penance more will do.” 


98 


Gbe Httme of tbe Bncient dftariner 

PART VI 

FIRST VOICE 

But tell me, tell me! speak again, 

Thy soft response renewing— 

What makes that ship drive on so fast ? 
What is the ocean doing ? 

SECOND VOICE 

Still as a slave before his lord, 

The ocean hath no blast; 

His great bright eye most silently 
Up to the moon is cast — 

If he may know which way to go; 

For she guides him smooth or grim. 

See, brother, see ! how graciously 
She looketh down on him. 

FIRST VOICE 

But why drives on that ship so fast, 
Without or wave or wind ? 

SECOND VOICE 

The air is cut away before, 

And closes from behind. 

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high ! 
Or we shall be belated: 


L.ofC. 


99 


tTbe TRfme of tbe Bncfent /Iftadner 


For slow and slow that ship will go, 

When the mariner’s trance is abated. 

I woke, and we were sailing on 
As in a gentle weather: 

’ T was night, calm night, the moon was high; 
The dead men stood together. 

All stood together on the deck, 

For a charnel-dungeon 16 fitter: 

All fixed on me their stony eyes, 

That in the moon did glitter. 

The pang, the curse, with which they died, 
Had never passed away: 

I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 

Nor turn them up to pray. 

And now this spell was snapt: once more 
I viewed the ocean green, 

And looked far forth, yet little saw 
Of what had else been seen — 

Like one, that on a lonesome road 
Doth walk in fear and dread, 

And having once turned round walks on, 

And turns no more his head; 

16. A vault or chamber underneath or near a church, where the bones 
of the dead are laid. 

IOO 



Zb e IRtme of tbc Bnctent /s&ariner 

Because he knows a frightful fiend 
Doth close behind him tread. 

But soon there breathed a wind on me, 
Nor sound nor motion made: 

Its path was not upon the sea, 

In ripple or in shade. 

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek 
Like a meadow-gale of spring — 

It mingled strangely with my fears, 

Yet it felt like a welcoming. 

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 

Yet she sailed softly too: 

Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — 

On me alone it blew. 

Oh! dream of joy ! is this indeed 
The lighthouse top I see ? 

Is this the hill ? is this the kirk ? 

Is this mine own countree ? 

We drifted o’er the harbour-bar, 

And I with sobs did pray — 

O let me be awake, my God! 

Or let me sleep alway. 

The harbour-bay was clear as glass, 

So smoothly it was strewn ! 

IOI 


£be Itfime of tbe Ancient /iftadner 

And on the bay the moonlight lay, 

And the shadow of the moon. 

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, 
That stands above the rock: 

The moonlight steeped in silentness 
The steady weathercock. 

And the bay was white with silent light, 
Till rising from the same, 

Full many shapes, that shadows were, 

In crimson colours came. 

A little distance from the prow 
Those crimson shadows were : 

I turned my eyes upon the deck — 

O Christ! what saw I there ! 

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, 

And, by the holy rood ! 17 
A man all light, a seraph-man, 

On every corse there stood. 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand : 
It was a heavenly sight! 

They stood as signals to the land, 

Each one a lovely light; 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand : 
No voice did they impart — 

17. Holy Cross. 


102 



Cbe TRtme of tbe ancient dbarinec 

No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank 
Like music on my heart. 

But soon I heard the dash of oars, 

I heard the Pilot’s cheer; 

The Pilot and the Pilot’s boy, 

I heard them coming fast: 

Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy 
The dead men could not blast. 

I saw a third — I heard his voice : 

It is the Hermit good ! 

He singeth loud his godly hymns 
That he makes in the wood. 

He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash away 
The Albatross’s blood. 


103 


Cbe Utfme of tbc Ancient /ilbarinec 


PART VII 

This Hermit good lives in that wood 
Which slopes down to the sea. 

How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! 

He loves to talk with marineres 
That come from a far countree. 

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve — 

He hath a cushion plump : 

It is the moss that wholly hides 
The rotted old oak-stump. 

The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk, 

‘ ‘ Why, this is strange, I trow ! 

Where are those lights so many and fair, 

That signal made but now?” 

“Strange, by my faith!” the Hermit said— 
“And they answered not our cheer. 

The planks look warped ! and see those sails, 
How thin they are and sere ! 

I never saw aught like to them, 

Unless perchance it were 

“Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 
My forest brook along; 


104 


tTbe IRime of tbe Bncient Ladner 


When the ivy-tod 18 is heavy with snow, 

And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, 

That eats the she-wolf’s young.” 

‘‘Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look — 

(The Pilot made reply) 

I am a-feared” — “Push on, push on I ” 

Said the Hermit cheerily. 

The boat came closer to the ship, 

But I nor spake nor stirred ; 

The boat came close beneath the ship, 

And straight a sound was heard. 

Under the water it rumbled on, 

Still louder and more dread : 

It reached the ship, it split the bay; 

The ship went down like lead. 

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, 
Which sky and ocean smote, 

Like one that hath been seven days drowned 
My body lay afloat; 

But swift as dreams, myself I found 
Within the Pilot’s boat. 

Upon the whirl where sank the ship, 

The boat spun round and round ; 


18. Thick clump of Ivy. 


105 



tibc IRfme of tbc indent /Bbadnet 


And all was still, save that the hill 
Was telling of the sound. 

I moved my lips — the Pilot shrieked 
And fell down in a fit; 

The Holy Hermit raised his eyes, 

And prayed where he did sit. 

I took the oars : the Pilot’s boy, 

Who now doth crazy go, 

Laughed loud and long, and all the while 
His eyes went to and fro. 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” quoth he, ‘‘full plain I see, 
The Devil knows how to row.” 

And now, all in my own countree, 

I stood on the firm land ! 

The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, 
And scarcely he could stand. 

“ O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man ! ” 
The Hermit crossed his brow. 

“ Say quick,” quoth he, “I bid thee say — 
What manner of man art thou ? ” 

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched 
With a woeful agony, 

Which forced me to begin my tale; 

And then it left me free. 

106 


Gbe IRlme of tbe Bnclent dbartner 


Since then, at an uncertain hour, 

That agony returns : 

And till my ghastly tale is told, 

This heart within me burns. 

I pass, like night, from land to land; 

I have strange power of speech; 

That moment that his face I see, 

I know the man that must hear me: 

To him my tale I teach. 

What loud uproar bursts from that door ! 
The Wedding-guests are there : 

But in the garden-bower the bride 
And bridemaids singing are : 

And hark the little vesper bell, 

Which biddeth me to prayer! 

O Wedding-guest ! This soul hath been 
Alone on a wide, wide sea: 

So lonely’t was, that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 

O sweeter than the marriage feast, 

’T is sweeter far to me, 

To walk together to the kirk 
With a goodly company ! 

To walk together to the kirk, 

And all together pray, 

107 


Gbe IRime of tbe Httdent flfcattner 

While each to his great Father bends, 

Old men, and babes, and loving friends, 
And youths and maidens gay ! 

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell 
To thee, thou Wedding-guest ! 

He prayeth well, who loveth well 
Both man and bird and beast. 

He prayeth best, who loveth best 
All things both great and small; 

For the dear God who loveth us, 

He made and loveth all. 

The Mariner, whose eye is bright, 

Whose beard with age is hoar, 

Is gone : and now the Wedding-guest 
Turned from the bridegroom’s door. 

He went like one that hath been stunned, 
And is of sense forlorn : 

A sadder and a wiser man, 

He rose the morrow morn. 


Stub? of tbe Hnctent flDariner 




* 















» 















































of TTfoe IRtme of tbe Hncient 
Partner 


This time we will not divide our discussion by 
the several topics of the outline, but will cover the 
points in continuous narration. As far as possible 
verify or successfully contradict from the poem 
the statements and conclusions that follow. 

A more weird and striking creation than Cole¬ 
ridge’s Ancient Mariner is difficult to find. 
“Long, lank and brown, as is the ribbed sea- 
sand,” with his skinny hand, long gray beard, and 
glittering eye he passes like night from land to 
land and tells his tale to the men that should hear 
him. Despite its confusing and uncanny setting 
the story is a simple one. He kills a bird of good 
omen and in so doing offends its guardian spirit. 
His shipmates for a penalty hang the dead 
body about his neck, the spirit follows the ship 
and takes its revenge. All the sailors but the 
offender die of thirst. In a moment of admira¬ 
tion for the beauty of the water snakes he blesses 
them unawares and the bird falls from his neck 
into the sea. The mariner’s life is spared, but 
bitter remorse continues as his punishment. 

By a happy choice of quaint expressions and 
solemn forms of speech, and by the use of rare 
and obsolete words Coleridge manages to give an 


109 



Stufcg of Gbe Ancient dbarfner 


atmosphere perfectly in harmony with his princi¬ 
pal characters. Then he introduces supernatural 
creatures: Two voices discuss the causes of the 
marvelous voyage of the ship. Death and a fear¬ 
ful specter with skin as white as leprosy cast dice 
for the mariner’s fate. Seraphs reanimate the 
bodies of the sailors. A spirit from the land of 
mist and snow follows the ship nine fathoms 
deep. The ship moves on “ without or wind or 
wave,” and reaches the harbor from which it 
sailed “though now its sails are thin and sere” 
like — 

“ Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 
My forest brook along; 

When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 

And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, 

That eats the she-wolf’s young.” 

The mariner tells his story within hearing of the 
wedding feast. The ship sails to the south and 
enters the land of mist and snow where ice, mast 
high and green as emerald, floats by; it returns 
to the tropics and in the zone of calms lies idle 
“as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.” By 
means of these most vivid descriptions the reader 
sees the ice-bound ocean, the rotting sea, the beau¬ 
tiful phosphorescence, the moonlit harbor. Some 
of the musical descriptive lines haunt one’s mem¬ 
ory, and the pictures they raise are never effaced: — 


IIO 


Stuos Of Gbe ancient ZlBariner 

“And through the drifts the snowy clifts 
Did send a dismal sheen: " 

“All in a hot and copper sky, 

The bloody sun at noon," 

“The sun's rim dips; the stars rush out: 

At one stride comes the dark." 

Perhaps no one scene is more vivid than the 
one which is described in Part IV. Then, after 
the horror of that awful voyage what peace rests 
upon the little harbor at home: — 

“The harbour-bay was clear as glass, 

So smoothly it was strewn ! 

And on the bay the moonlight lay, 

And the shadow of the moon. 

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, 
That stands above the rock: 

The moonlight steeped in silentness 
The steady weathercock." 

The story is intensely dramatic at times, as 
when the mariner having described the albatross 
and the good luck it brought, seems overcome by 
some fearful recollection and pauses in his narra¬ 
tive. 

“ God save thee, ancient Mariner! 

From the fiends that plague thee thus!— 

Why lookest thou so ? "— 


hi 


Stubs of fTbe Bncfent Mariner 

Coleridge indulges in no description, does not 
even interrupt the musical flow of the stanza, but 
makes the mariner abruptly close that part of the 
poem with the startling announcement, “ With my 
cross-bow I shot the Albatross.” 

These are but a few of. the things that go to 
make this poem so remarkable. To give so con¬ 
vincing an air of reality to what is wholly imag¬ 
inary is a mark of genius, and surely there could 
be no more effective way of presenting the lesson 
than this :— 

“Farewell, farewell! but this I tell 
To thee, thou Wedding-guest! 

He prayeth well, who loveth ■well 
Both man and bird and beast. 

He prayeth best, who loveth best 
All things both great and small ; 

For the dear God who loveth us, 

He made and loveth all.” 


112 























Samuel ^a^lor Colert&ge 


Samuel Ua^lor Golertoae 

1772-1834 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge was one of the most 
remarkable figures of English Literature. He 
was constitutionally awkward in his carriage and 
manners, and seemed altogether lacking in 
physical energy, yet he possessed a personal 
magnetism that drew about him a group of 
friends who became almost his disciples. The 
poet Southey was the warmest of these, and when 
Coleridge, unable to provide for his family, 
meanly abandoned them, it was Southey who took 
their support upon himself. For a period of sev¬ 
enteen years Coleridge was a slave to opiates, and 
during this time he became wholly unreliable and 
lost most of his power to write, though he could 
talk fluently and delightfully. After he put him¬ 
self entirely into the hands of a London physician, 
whose judicious and kindly care was a remarkable 
testimony to the attractiveness of Coleridge, he 
recovered much of his former power. He lived 
for some years with Southey and Wordsworth in 
the beautiful lake region of northern England, and 
formed with them what is known as the Lake 
School of Poetry, characterized by a sympathetic 
interpretation of nature. 

The Ancient Mariner was begun by Wordsworth 
and Coleridge working together, but the vivid 1m- 
i T 3 


Samuel Easier ColerfDge 

agination of the latter caught the idea of the piece 
more firmly and worked it out in all its beautiful 
details. In the poem as it finally appeared, 
Wordsworth contributed but a few trifling lines 
besides the following: — 

“ And listens like a three years’ child : 

The Mariner hath his will.” 

“And thou art long, and lank and brown, 

As is the ribbed sea-sand.” 

Wordsworth says he suggested that “some crime 
was to be committed which should bring upon the 
Old Navigator as Coleridge afterwards delighted 
to call him, the spectral persecution, as a conse¬ 
quence of that crime and his own wanderings. 
I had been reading in Shelvocke’s Voyages , a day 
or two before, that while doubling Cape Horn 
they frequently saw albatrosses in that latitude, 
the largest sort of sea fowl, some extending their 
wings twelve or thirteen feet. 'Suppose,’ said I, 

‘ you represent him as having killed one of these 
birds on entering the South Sea, and that the 
tutelary spirits of these regions take upon them to 
avenge the crime.’ The incident was thought fit 
for the purpose and adopted accordingly. I also 
suggested the navigation of the ship by the dead 
men, but do not recollect that I had anything 
more to do with the scheme of the poem.” 

The Ancient Mariner was published in Lyrical 
Ballads , a book which marked an epoch in litera¬ 
ls 


Samuel Ga^lot ColetlDge 

ture, as it showed a strong tendency away from the 
formalism of the past and toward a natural realism 
tempered by graceful imagination. Most of the 
poems in the little volume were by Wordsworth. 

The wonderful genius of Coleridge showed itself 
when he was a boy, and it was of him that Charles 
Lamb wrote: “Come back into memory like as 
thou wast in the dayspring of thy fancies, with 
hope like a fiery column before thee — the dark 
pillar not yet turned— Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 
logician, metaphysician, bard! How have I seen 
the casual passer through the cloisters stand still, 
entranced with admiration (while he weighed the 
disproportion between the speech and the garb ) 
... to hear thee unfold, in thy deep, sweet in¬ 
tonations the mysteries of the philosophers . . . 
or reciting Homer in his Greek, or Pindar, while 
the walls of the old Grayfriars re-echoed to the 
accents of the inspired charity boy.” His incom¬ 
plete life was owing to his diseased will, against 
the weakness of which he struggled. When his 
publisher remonstrated he wrote, “You have 
poured oil in the raw and festering wounds of an 
old friend’s conscience, Cottle!—but it is oil of 
vitriol! I have prayed with drops of agony on 
my brow, trembling not only before the justice of 
my Master, but even before the mercy of my 
Redeemer: 'I gave thee so many talents; what 
hast thou done with them?’” 

In spite of his weakness and the incompleteness 

ii5 


Samuel Ga^lor ColcclD^e 


of his work, he was an influence as a critic, a 
poet, a philosopher, and a theologian. 


“He suffered an almost lifelong punishment for 
his errors, whilst the world at large has the un¬ 
withering fruits of his labors and his genius and 
his sufferings. ” 


Nothing can surpass the melodious richness 
of words which he heaps around his images,— 
images not glaring in themselves, but which are 
always affecting to the very verge of tears, be¬ 
cause they have all been formed and nourished in 
the recesses of one of the most deeply musing 
spirits that ever breathed forth its inspirations 
in the majestic language of England. 

—John Wilson. 


116 



































JLo tbe Stubent: 


The following blank pages are useful for 
various purposes. Upon some you can paste 
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from the papers. You can copy upon others 
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eral notes as are worthy. You can record upon 
a few pages the most interesting of your studies 
and your own opinions of some of the selections 
you have read. Years later you will find it 
enjoyable to refer to these memoranda. 


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122 



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123 


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124 


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126 


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136 


AN ORIGINAL COURSE 


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